


The Colors of Souls

by nightbirdrises



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 20:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbirdrises/pseuds/nightbirdrises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine, an elementary school music teacher, hasn’t seen his own Shadow in years. But he becomes undeniably attached in more ways than one to a particularly unforgettable Shadow that keeps coming back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Colors of Souls

**Author's Note:**

> There is one rather porny scene but it's brief compared to the rest so I kept the rating to M.
> 
> This sprouted from a soulmate AU idea I had - except it's not TECHNICALLY a soulmate AU the way it is now. It could be taken as such, I suppose, since souls are definitely involved, but in my opinion, it doesn't quite fit the mold of the usual "soulmate" universes. You could also consider it somewhat weirdly supernatural, given the Shadows involved, but that's up to you too.
> 
> In short, I suck at categorizing things. I hope you like it anyways! [[tumblr]](http://princehummel.tumblr.com/post/59758211866)

Not much is known about the Shadows — from a visual standpoint, they’re simply, well, shadows. They grow and shrink with the angle of light, and disappear entirely when there’s no light to be found or when the angle is wrong. From a visual standpoint, there’s no difference between a human’s Shadow and the shadow of a tree.

However, they are so much more complicated than that. 

Every human on Earth has a Shadow that portrays their silhouette. The Shadows, though, are not attached to their owners. They wander freely and attach to other humans that intrigue them, usually utilizing the cloak of darkness, nighttime or otherwise, to switch from one person to another. If that weren’t interesting enough, it’s also no secret that the Shadows influence the person to which it (or he, or she, depending on how you see it, because they are still the shapes of real people that exist) is attached to.

The most common phenomenon for people to experience when a Shadow is attached to them is the mental embodiment of emotions as color. A person with a Shadow that’s feeling irritated might notice what most can only describe as the color red at the edge of his or her thoughts. The colors and their emotional meanings sometimes vary between Shadows, but most can figure it out easily enough to discern the basics. Of course, just like humans, a Shadow’s personality can be a massive puzzle at times.

Many people pose this question, then: what, exactly  _are_  Shadows? Theories abound, but the most widely accepted one is that each is the imprint of its owner’s soul. Seeing as the Shadows seem to be completely independent of their owners (they react to their surroundings and interact with their hosts, regardless of where their owners may be or what they may be doing), but retain the same emotional personality of their owner, this theory makes sense, and it’s the one that a certain young music teacher in New York City named Blaine Anderson agrees with.

Blaine hides a yawn behind his hand as he sits behind his desk, typing away at his laptop. His first class of the day is due to arrive any minute, and he’s as excited as ever. Teaching kids, though it hadn’t been his first choice of career, is more rewarding than he could ever have imagined. He’s always known that he likes kids, sure, but it hadn’t been until he’d finished his first week of classes that he’d realized just how rewarding it can be.

Especially since he’s teaching music, one of his greatest joys in life. Somehow, the kids he teaches (in elementary school, of varying grades) seem to understand music on a different level than most adults do. Where adults, even teens, often get caught up in which song is the best, the worst, etc., Blaine’s kids simply enjoy it for what it is.

The bell rings and Blaine stands up, smoothing the wrinkles from his cardigan. Out of instinct he glances to where a Shadow would be and, sure enough, sees the small outline of one of his most dedicated students, Haley. Sun-bright yellow excitement pricks at his thoughts and Blaine laughs, shaking his head.

The Shadows belonging to children usually stick close to their owners, often remaining attached to them if they’re particularly shy in temperament. Blaine has found that a class gets more interested and less irritable when he starts the year off with an exercise for the Shadows themselves: he turns out the lights, all the kids arranged in a circle (which excites the kids themselves), then turns them back on. After a round or two, most of the Shadows have gotten comfortable and will flit to other children, all of whom are incredibly awed at the Shadow of a classmate attached to them.

It’s like an introduction exercise, but not quite as nerve-wracking as going around the room and stating name, favorite color, and so on.

"Mr. Anderson!" Blaine isn’t ready when a small figure practically tackles him at the waist. "I missed you."

"I saw you yesterday, Jason," he says, gently prying the young boy off of him so he can walk to the front of the room. "Was it really that long?"

"Well I wanted to show you a song I wrote," Jason says, scuffing his feet on the carpet. "It’s about my dog."

"I’ll see it after class, alright buddy?’

"Okay." Jason flashes him a huge grin and sits down in his usual spot, instantly launching into a conversation about who-knows-what with Kyle behind him. 

The rest of the class quickly fills, having left their backpacks on the hooks along an inside wall of the room. Haley waves enthusiastically from her spot right up front and Blaine waves back; subconsciously he senses warm, burnt-orange pride from the Shadow that hasn’t yet left him.

The class hour is very routine, and Blaine’s sure he’d quickly have gotten bored of it if not for his students. Each year he meets a new bunch on top of the old and says farewell to the oldest. Haley Evans, the daughter of a lawyer and her friendly, guitar-playing husband, has been in his classes for two years now. She’s in third grade, age eight, and is possibly one of the most genuinely sweet students he’s ever had.

He’s only ever met Haley’s mother, a rather severe-looking but beautiful blonde-haired woman named Quinn that completely threw him for a loop when she turned out to be fairly laid-back and cheerful. They had met for a few minutes during orientation back when Haley started first grade, and have spoken at each orientation since, though regrettably never for long.

Blaine takes Jason’s dog song at the end of class, scrawled on a scrap piece of notebook paper in colored pencil, and promises to put it up on his wall at home.

He’ll admit he’s a little bit sentimental. Or a lot. One wall in Blaine’s living room is plastered with all kinds of things that can be hung on a wall — art by his students, letters from friends outside the city, photographs from just about every period of his life, and more. 

The rest of the day passes by in a blur and Blaine soon finds himself walking into his apartment, arms stretching as he heads for the wall to pin Jason’s song to one of the bulletin boards hanging there that still has some space to fill. Next to the bulletin board, catching his eye (not for the first time), is a framed photo of himself. It’s pretty ordinary, just a picture of Blaine smiling and sitting on the grass in the middle of the summer before his senior year of high school, but none of that is why it’s hanging on the wall.

The reason it holds such importance to him is on the grass in the background of the photo. It’s a Shadow, and one he’s come to recognize easily over the past few years since he (for it seems to be the silhouette of a boy) first found him the day Blaine was released from the hospital after the Sadie Hawkins mess. 

The Shadow’s color had been concerned, almost understanding in a way that Blaine hadn’t known before. He’d stayed at Blaine’s side, literally, until that night when Blaine turned out the lights and finally slept. It was his first night without flashback-ridden nightmares.

Blaine didn’t see that particular Shadow again until he was at Dalton during his junior year. He hadn’t recognized it as the same Shadow right away — the hair was different and the jaw sharper, his overall stature lean and definitely a bit taller than Blaine himself. But he had the same presence in his head, a kind of calming force with attitude.

When Blaine met Sebastian Smythe for the first time, that Shadow was with him. And he was in no way pleased with the new Warbler, red and icy cold blue crackling dangerously in the back of Blaine’s mind.

For some time, Blaine had noticed his own Shadow — a shock at first, not having seen it since childhood — following Sebastian. On some occasions, he even saw the Shadow of the unknown boy with Sebastian, clearly irritating him. Though he felt a bit guilty about it since Sebastian hadn’t done anything but perhaps be a bit crude, the sight always made Blaine smile, secretly.

Since then, the same Shadow has appeared to Blaine on an irregular basis, always a bit different and sometimes odd-looking with the silhouette of whatever the owner — of the boldly fashionable sort, Blaine guesses — must be wearing at the time, but always a pleasant surprise, as well.

Blaine wants so badly to meet the Shadow’s owner, but it’s highly unlikely that he ever will. Around his age, twenty-five, most Shadows have traveled incredibly far from their owners, and it’s impossible to track them on the off chance they do go back for a day or two. There’s technology in the making meant to identify Shadows instantly, but that leaves a bad taste in Blaine’s mouth. Part of the significance is the mystery, the idea that you have no idea who this person is but, in a very basic yet complicated way, you  _do_.

Blaine smiles at the photograph and turns away, the blissful promise of sleep too much to ignore.

 

* * *

 

"Are you sure you don’t want a ride home? Or at least some money for a cab?"

Blaine shakes his head, shrugging his jacket onto his shoulders. He’d been at his old classmate and friend’s house for the last two hours, just catching up, but the sun’s starting to set and he really needs to get home.

"It’s a nice night," he says. "I’ll be fine."

It’s a beautiful night, actually, as Blaine steps out of the building and takes a moment to breathe. The city isn’t always pretty — in reality, it’s grimy and dark most of the time — but now, with the rays of the setting sun bright and golden where they peek past apartment complexes and more distant skyscrapers, it’s nothing short of breathtaking.

A familiar, calm navy edges his thoughts and Blaine smiles. A single glance to his left is all he needs to see the Shadow, the one with tall, coiffed hair and that unique presence that Blaine probably won’t ever forget entirely.

"Hey," he hums under his breath, completely aware that Shadows can’t talk back. But they’re aware of their surroundings all the same, and Blaine’s in tune with this one well enough to detect the tiniest spike of a reaction, tinged warm pink before fading back to navy.

Most people find it weird to talk to a Shadow, no matter how strangely sentient they seem to be, but Blaine enjoys it. As ridiculous as he probably looks when he says a word or two in public, he loves when he can get a reaction out of whoever is attached to him at the time. 

Sometimes, like right now as he starts to walk home, Blaine wonders about his own Shadow, and what kinds of people he has attached to. There was Sebastian, of course, but that had been years ago. Some people do find their own Shadows later in life, but many don’t, leaving them to wonder at the people they would have met had they been able to travel as easily as their abstract counterparts.

The Shadow grows longer, slightly distorted but no less familiar as Blaine walks. He half expects him to disappear, replaced with a different shape each time he steps out of the sunlight, but he doesn’t. 

He’s almost home, just one intersection to cross before he reaches his apartment, and Blaine steps into the street when the lights deem it time to walk. One step, and suddenly crimson flashes burning-hot in his head, forcing him to stumble backwards and blink rapidly at the force of it. He hasn’t quite caught his bearings yet a moment later when a car comes roaring around the corner, the driver blasting music and paying no heed to the crosswalk.

If Blaine had continued walking, well. It’s pretty self-explanatory.

"Oh my God." Blaine, shaking as his nervous system catches up, backs into a nearby one-way sign and slumps against it, not caring how dirty it might be. "Oh my God," he repeats and closes his eyes. He hasn’t had a near-death experience like this in the city before, even living here for almost seven years, and it’s overwhelming.

It takes a few minutes for Blaine to calm down and think rationally about what just happened. His eyes widen as he turns to gape at the Shadow, hardly visible now in fading light but still there, and still familiar. Except now, Blaine feels something a bit different. He’s not sure what it is — only that this Shadow, whoever’s he may be, saved him.

Blaine can detect a simmering, darker red, obviously being held back but obviously a color of near rage. It takes him a second to realize that the Shadow isn’t angry at him, but at the driver that nearly sent him to the hospital.

"I’m fine," he says, mostly to himself but also to the Shadow. "Nothing happened."

The Shadow’s color cycles red-orange before settling on a calmer burgundy. Blaine laughs; if he didn’t know better, he’d say that the Shadow just rolled his eyes at him. It’s the most personality he’s ever gleaned from any of the Shadows he’s had the pleasure of meeting — and he’s been attached to many; Cooper tells him he’s too damn happy, so they flock to him. His grandmother, long since passed, used to tell him that it was his warm spirit, his soul, really, that attracted so many other souls to him.

Blaine doesn’t know for sure what it is, but it doesn’t matter right now. Right now, he’s more curious than ever to know who the person is whose Shadow keeps following him, checking up on him, even, and saving him. 

The light changes again and Blaine walks across carefully, wary as he almost jogs to the other side. The Shadow’s color tenses into deep purple but gradually relaxes back to navy as Blaine makes his way up to the door of his apartment complex. 

Inside his apartment, he flicks on the light and turns his head — but the Shadow isn’t there. Instead it’s the Shadow of a more stockly built (though taller) man with noticeable lips and hair that flops, casual and unstyled in comparison to the other. It’s a little disappointing, but the new Shadow (well, kind of new; Blaine’s positive he recognizes the form, even if he doesn’t remember exactly where he’s seen him before) is pleasant and laid-back.

This Shadow gets excited when Blaine puts in The Avengers to watch before bed, and Blaine grins to himself as he imagines having a friend that would watch this movie with him and let him geek out a bit. 

The movie ends and Blaine yawns, swears his very nerves are sore from the earlier scare. He turns out the light in the living room (after giving the Shadow a quiet farewell, not sure that he’ll stay) and heads for the bedroom.

He turns the light on in his room and changes into a t-shirt and sweats, no longer able to keep up with the designer-label pajama sets he used to wear in high school. It’s not until he’s about to collapse on the bed that he notices the Shadow — it’s the one from earlier, still navy but with an almost sheepish flush of periwinkle. Blaine finds himself wishing he could have a real conversation with the Shadow, his owner, anyone that could possibly have contact with him. 

"Thank you," he says, since it’s all he can do, and the colors brighten, sharp and clear in a way that no other Shadow has managed around Blaine. He chuckles, still in awe about the entire thing. "Goodnight, my friend."

At  _friend_ , the colors even out into the color of a moonlit sky, and Blaine finally lies down to sleep with his mouth turned up in a smile.

 

* * *

 

The Shadow barely leaves him after that night. During class he often disappears, and Blaine starts to suspect it’s only to let the kids’ Shadows interact with him because he comes back at the end of each day, almost without fail. When it’s not that Shadow, it’s the Avengers-loving one, and sometimes even the shorter Shadow of a young woman that seems extremely dramatic and bold about… well, everything.

In fact, there’s a small band of Shadows that return to him again and again over the next few months, well into the start of winter. They’re all wildly varied in personality and Blaine grows fond of each, but none so much as the Shadow that saved him.

That has saved him — albeit more subtly — in the past, now that he thinks about it.

"Mr. Anderson?"

Blaine shakes himself to reality, which is his empty classroom and little Haley bouncing on her heels in front of his desk.

"What is it, Hal?"

"My Mommy said I should give you this." Haley hands him a folded note, beams, and watches Blaine.

"Oh, thank you," Blaine says. "Do you know what it’s about?"

Haley shakes her head, a little pouty. “Mommy didn’t tell me anything. But it’s okay. Mommy knows everything.”

Blaine nods with a little smile; he really does love kids, so much. It’s just a shame his dating life is pretty much dead, so the chances of eventually having a family of his own are slim. He’d adopt a child himself, but it’s a lot of work for one person, and… he wants to share that experience.

"Tell her I’ll read it, okay?"

"But Mommy wants you to give me an answer so I can tell her, Mr. Anderson."

"Oh." Blaine blinks; they do have email, after all. But if it’s what Quinn wants, who is he to question it? "Okay."

He opens the letter, curious, and finds Quinn’s neat handwriting.

  
Mr. Blaine Anderson,

I have a friend I want you to meet. Haley’s told me and Sam a lot about you, and we both think you would click with this guy. As a parent, it’s probably not my place to drag you into a blind date, but I don’t really care.  _(She cares, dude, she just really wants you guys to meet)_

Give Haley a yes or no and I’ll set things up. There’s an address and date at the bottom if you’re in.

Sincerely,  
Quinn Evans  _(and Sam!)_

  
The Shadow that’s with him — belonging to a quiet fourth grader in his last period class — hums a confused tangerine color, but he’s too distracted by his own thoughts to pay much attention. It’s nothing short of a blind date, something that Blaine prefers to avoid because so many things could go utterly wrong.

On the other hand, Quinn isn’t an idiot — from the little Blaine knows of her, she wouldn’t suggest such a thing unless she’s serious about it. He checks the date; January 23rd, the next Sunday. The address isn’t one he knows, but Quinn has written that it’s a café, which is well within Blaine’s wheelhouse. He’s not sure he could have done a blind date at a club.

He still kind of wants to say no, just because the idea makes him uncomfortable — what if they have nothing in common and it’s awkward? What if they get along but it turns out that the guy has a boyfriend that Quinn and Sam somehow don’t know about?

Blaine knows he’s being a little unreasonable, but he’s picky about this dating thing. He likes to be romantic, even if he doesn’t always succeed, and he’s not into the one-date-then-fuck thing that some guys he’s met do. There’s a whole long list of reasons he wants to say no.

But a tiny part of him wants him to take a chance.

"Tell your mom I say yes," Blaine says, the words tumbling out before he can stop them.

"Okay!" 

Haley blows him a kiss, making him laugh and blow one in return, then flounces off and out the door. Blaine’s smile remains plastered on until he slumps back into his desk chair, rubbing a hand down his face. He’s suddenly exhausted, more so than usual. 

There’s no turning back now, so Blaine stares at the address again before slipping the paper into his back pocket. He stands, stretches, and packs up his things.

He mumbles a half-hearted goodbye to the Shadow and turns out the classroom’s light as he walks towards the building’s exit.

 

* * *

 

Sunday the 23rd comes in a gentle flurry of snow, soft and serene as it falls. It’s almost enough to distract from the dirty slush on the street left over from the last snowfall. Blaine tightens his scarf around his neck with a little shiver, squinting at the various shops and miscellaneous buildings around him for the café that’s supposedly nearby. He’s never been on this particular block before, but it seems a little eccentric. It has that local, lived-in old European air to it. Italian, maybe.

It’s a comfortable place and Blaine makes sure to mentally note the area down to explore more thoroughly later — especially the flower shop on the corner.

He spots the café, a tiny place with no name to be seen. Blaine frowns, unsure as he pushes the door open and gets hit with a wave of warm, coffee-infused air. There aren’t many people inside but there are enough to provide a quiet background of chatter.

He has the Shadow with him, the one that he’s grown so fond of that Blaine feels a little emptier when he leaves. He can’t see the silhouette very well in the dim light of the café, but it’s impossible for him not to recognize him by his presence now. The Shadow’s current color is that of dawn, a calming myriad that seems to have a positive effect on Blaine’s jittery nerves.

"Hey man, you want something?" Blaine jumps a little and turns to the speaker, a young man with blonde hair and a massive grin. He’s wearing a deep olive-colored shirt that seems to be the employee uniform. "Wait. You’re Blaine, aren’t you?"

"Yes," Blaine says. "Blaine Anderson. Do I know you?"

The guy shakes his head and laughs. “Kinda. I’m Sam Evans, does that help?”

"Like… Quinn and Haley, you’re—"

"I’m Haley’s dad, yeah." Sam grins impossibly wider and holds his hand out for Blaine to shake. "We just bought this place, like, six months ago, it’s awesome."

"You own it?" Blaine asks, awed. It’s his fantasy of a coffeeshop come to life.

"Well, kinda. We share ownership with a friend. He doesn’t have time to work here much because he has another job, but he pretty much planned everything out and took time off to make sure it got set up right. After all his help, I had to offer him a share of the place, and eventually he took it."

"Wow, that’s amazing. Congratulations," Blaine says sincerely. Sam beams.

"Thanks! So, hey, do you want to order something to drink while you wait?"

Blaine remembers, then, why he’s here, and damn it, he told himself he wouldn’t get nervous. So much for that. “Just a, uh, medium drip?”

"That’s it?" Sam frowns. "I’ll surprise you with something, okay, dude? You can just sit wherever you want."

"Oh— Okay."

Blaine chooses a spot in a corner near the front counter, right up against the window. He ignores the grey street slush and watches the snow fall and people walk by. 

The Shadow, weirdly enough, seems as nervous as he is now. His color thrums along lavender and soft orange.

"You okay?" A pink blush, fading to a deeper, affirmative purple. Blaine has no idea how he’s able to interpret the colors of this Shadow more easily than any other — it could be that he’s always around, or that the colors are brighter than most and feel like they actually carry nuances of emotion and personality with them (and maybe they do). He’s certainly one of the most varied of the Shadows Blaine has had experience with, using vastly different colors for similar instances. It should be confusing, but it’s not.

"Try this out, I think you’ll like it," Sam’s voice says, and Blaine squints up at him. He’s standing right in the light so all Blaine can really see is his shape, and it’s shockingly familiar now that he really pays attention.

"Thanks," Blaine says quietly. "Um, one question."

"Shoot."

"What’s your favorite movie?"

"Dude, The Avengers! Or any of those kinds of movies, I guess. Quinn hates them, though, and most of my friends got tired of all that after a while."

Blaine raises an eyebrow, unable to keep a smile from spreading. “I like those movies a lot, too,” he says. “At the risk of being too forward—”

"Can I watch a superhero movie with you?" Sam blurts out, visibly excited. "Sorry, it’s just been a while." Blaine nods, and Sam punches the air. "Awesome! After you’re done with your stuff you can totally just come talk to me, we’ll figure something out."

Sam walks away, humming to himself, and Blaine swears he catches him playing an air guitar. He takes a deep breath, glad that if nothing else, he’s made a possible friend, and resumes his mindless watching of the outside street.

His drink, when he tastes it, is sweet and rich with caramel and mocha. It tastes amazing, nothing like the big chain drinks, and Sam had given him a lot of it. 

Minutes pass, then half an hour, and Blaine starts to wonder if this mysterious guy is even coming. Do people get stood up on blind dates? Apparently so. He’s about to work up the energy to leave — he really doesn’t want to; it’s so nice here, but he has work-related stuff to do — when he hears a new voice from behind the counter.

"I’m here, tell me I look okay." The voice is high-pitched but definitely, undeniably male. Blaine tries to crane his head to see, but the man is just out of sight on Sam’s other side.

"You look fine, bro—" Sam starts, but he’s cut off.

"God, I probably look like a mess. Fix my hair?"

"You know what happens when I try to touch your hair." Sam mimes an explosion around his head.

"Right. Fine, it’ll be fine. Where—"

Sam points then, right at Blaine, who ducks his head and pretends to be extremely interested in the tiling on his other side. The Shadow is strung up, positively so, and Blaine can’t imagine what’s so exciting about this. He should have said no, should have—

"Hi," the new voice says, much closer now. Blaine sits straight up, probably too quickly and smiles. But it falters when he sees the man standing in front of him.

His hair is chestnut brown and styled almost to perfection — though a strand droops down only to be brushed aside by a shaking hand. He’s a little taller than Blaine, a little wider too at the chest and shoulders. His eyes are grey-green-blue, a combination that probably has a name but Blaine can’t bring himself to think of it.

If he imagines this guy as his Shadow, it’s a perfect match to the Shadow with him now, which is practically buzzing at the back of his mind.

It takes him a second to notice that he’s not the only one staring (which is only a small comfort). The man’s staring at him too, lips parted and eyes wide, hands clutching at the strap of his shoulder bag.

"Hey," Blaine says, clearing his throat when it comes out weird and broken. "Um. I’m—"

"Blaine Anderson," Kurt breathes. He shakes his head. "I’m sorry, I’m being— I don’t know. Kurt Hummel," he finishes, shaking Blaine’s hand. "It’s a pleasure to meet you."

 _I think I kind of already have_ , Blaine thinks, but he responds as he should. Then, “So you know Sam and Quinn?”

Kurt nods, sitting down opposite Blaine. He’s a little more relaxed, but his hands are rigid where they sit on the table. “We’ve been friends since high school. Show choir,” he adds when Blaine looks curious.

"Really? I was in an all-boys a capella show choir," Blaine says, getting more at ease with each second that passes. "The Warblers."

"Not the Dalton Warblers?"

"… Yes?"

"Oh my God. We almost competed against you," Kurt says with a breathless laugh. "But then the organization redrew the sections  _again_ , so we faced someone else.”

"And you were…"

"The New Directions," Kurt says, rolling his eyes. "And yes, I know exactly what it sounds like."

"McKinley, right? In Lima?"

"Mhm. Good old Lima, Ohio." Kurt bites his lip then, looks down at the table between them. Then he looks to the side, in the direction of their Shadows, and smiles disbelievingly. "I can’t believe this."

"What?"

"Look." Blaine looks and sees his own Shadow there, attached to Kurt. And that’s a new kind of surreal. Shit, he’s a whole mess of thoughts and emotions, and it probably doesn’t help that the Shadow — Kurt’s — is so keyed up at the moment.

"Coincidence?"

"I doubt it," Kurt says, looking back at Blaine. "He’s been around for years, kind of off and on, you know. I—" Kurt stops himself, momentarily and visibly terrified. "Nothing."

"Me too," Blaine says, choosing to ignore the last. "I mean, the sticking around thing. You— I guess it’s technically you, right?" Kurt shrugs, smiling. "Whatever. Your Shadow’s been around me for a long time, too."

"So, probably not  _too_  much of a coincidence, then,” Kurt muses with a little smirk. “I guess we know each other better than we think, in that case.”

"Maybe, but I still don’t know what your coffee order is," Blaine hums. "Or what you do for a living. Or anything that’s not related to emotions."

Kurt laughs for real, a sound that Blaine wants to hear every day of his life. Then he recounts how he’s an editor for Vogue, how he has partial ownership in this little café because “Sam is even more stubborn than I am when he really wants something. I just like interior design and coffee.” How he grew up just hours away from Westerville, then moved to New York City as soon as he graduated from McKinley and went to NYU to study theater.

Blaine tells him about his original desire to be a performer that changed when he got the chance to teach a class full of kids about stage combat. He mentions how amazing he thinks his kids are and how he hasn’t regretted his decision to become a music teacher once.

"It’s not a lot of money," he admits. "But it’s worth it."

Kurt watches him with a soft expression, but then he checks his watch and groans. “I’m gonna be late for work. Who schedules a meeting on Sunday? Honestly, I’m going to…” Kurt trails off, mumbling as he stands and adjusts his bag on his shoulder again. “Blaine?”

"Yes?"

"I’d really, really like to see you again," Kurt says. He takes out his phone and opens a new contact page. "Can I… ?"

"Of course!" Blaine hands Kurt his phone in return before punching in his number. They switch back and Blaine stands and it’s a little awkward. But Kurt takes a breath, a step in, and kisses Blaine gently on the cheek.

When he pulls away he’s sheepish and a little pink at his cheeks, but Blaine’s pretty sure he has a similar expression. “I’ll call you later?”

"I can’t wait." Kurt rocks on his heels and grins for a moment before he turns and leaves the café, stumbling a bit on a chair on his way out. Blaine can’t help it; he pumps his fist (though not as dramatically as Sam had) and lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Today could not have gone better, and Blaine hopes it feels like this — thrilling, familiar, breathtaking — for a long time to come.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t slip out until their third date (technically their fourth, but Kurt refuses to call their original meeting a date), and at first, Blaine thinks he has just messed up everything.

"You saved me," he blurts out as they sit together on Kurt’s couch, watching the end credits of Enchanted roll by. Kurt had been leaning closer, but now he turns to frown at Blaine, confused.

"I what?"

"You, well I guess it’s not exactly you, but your Shadow — which  _is_  you, but not? I—”

"Blaine." Kurt huffs out a little, amused laugh. "Slow down."

"Sorry. Um, your Shadow kind of saved my life a while ago. No, really," he adds when Kurt raises an eyebrow. "I was about to cross the street and I didn’t— I guess there was a distracted driver that I didn’t see, and your Shadow… stopped me? Before I could get run over. There were other things he did for me too, but that was kind of… the most obvious one."

Kurt doesn’t say anything for a while, just stares at his hands in front of him, a thumb tracing over his knuckles. Blaine has no idea why he felt the need to say that  _now_ , when they’ve just had a nice at-home movie date and things are supposed to be easy and comfortable. Not that it’s something he ever wanted to actively keep from Kurt, but it’s not exactly something to drop after a musical Disney rom-com, either.

"You did too," Kurt finally says, quiet. "Save me, I mean. It wasn’t anything life-threatening, or I don’t know, maybe it could have been— But whatever. The point is, I was bullied a lot in high school. Your Shadow didn’t like it at all," Kurt recalls with a tiny smile. "He wasn’t around as much back then, but I could still tell. This one kid, a hockey player, started making my life hell.

"One day, he kissed me. The next, he threatened to kill me. No one seemed to care enough to help, so I thought about skipping school a lot to avoid him. I did that only once; I went to this coffee place called the Lima Bean and had every intention of being miserable. But your Shadow came around and he was  _so_  charming and sweet — like the man himself, of course.”

Blaine ducks his head, pleased at the compliment. Kurt continues.

"For the first time, I talked to him. You. About everything. You couldn’t say anything back, or do anything, but it was like someone finally understood, you know? It was freeing."

And Blaine does know, because he remembers feeling the exact same way that night he went home from the hospital. He’s not about to bring that up now — one confession is enough for a third date, he reasons. But he knows, and nods to show Kurt that.

"He still wasn’t around much even after that, but every time I saw him was worth holding myself together. And I might have been imagining it, but the day that Dave — the hockey player — got expelled for harassment, I saw your Shadow attached to the principal. Maybe that doesn’t mean anything, but I wonder sometimes."

Kurt coughs a little and straightens up to look at Blaine. “I honestly don’t know what would have happened if your Shadow hadn’t been around, so I firmly believe that this falls in the category of saving.” He seems a bit self-conscious now, but Blaine leans in to kiss him, slow and deep. It’s not their first kiss, but it feels like one as Kurt reaches to cup his jaw and takes over, kissing back until they part again with a soft  _smack_.

"Sorry," Blaine whispers, still close enough to feel the puff of air on his cheek from Kurt’s gentle scoff. "It just felt like the right time."

"I’m not complaining." Kurt seems on the edge of saying something else, a sentence at the tip of his tongue, but he remains silent but for his breathing, rhythmic and a little quicker than usual from the kiss.

"Would you complain if we did that again?" Blaine asks. He’s curious, but his curiosity isn’t so much so that he doesn’t want to keep kissing Kurt, exploring him in touch and the way he moves under Blaine’s fingers.

"Absolutely not," Kurt hums, closing the distance between them once more.

 

* * *

 

"Wait. Blaine, stay still."

Blaine freezes in his tracks; he’d been on his way to the kitchen to get another of Kurt’s infamous sugar cookies, but Sam’s voice has stopped him. “What?”

"Turn a little."

Frowning, Blaine does. “Sam, I don’t know—” He’s interrupted when Sam shushes him and continues to just stare, as if he’s trying to commit Blaine to memory. It’s a little distracting because, yeah, the guy’s kind of attractive. Still, Blaine would rather be getting a cookie and maybe some more champagne than being the subject of such interest.

A few seconds later, Sam snaps his fingers and points at Blaine, saying, “I knew it!”

"Knew  _what?_ " Blaine asks, bewildered, as Sam rushes to give him a massive bear hug.

"Your Shadow, dude, I used to see him sometimes, especially when my family was homeless," Sam says, still hugging him. Blaine wriggles a bit, giving Kurt on the other side of the room a helpless look. "I think he had kind of a thing for me, but he was awesome. I had no idea the first time I saw you, I think it’s ‘cause you have different hair now."

"Flatter hair," Kurt offers, and Blaine glares at him. "It’s sad but true, Blaine. You’re a gel addict."

Sam releases Blaine but keeps hold of his shoulders. “I wasn’t the only one, I’m pretty sure I saw your Shadow with almost everyone in the glee club back in high school. He must have liked us.”

Blaine looks at Kurt, who confirms it with a little nod. “I guess it makes sense, because I do like you. Those of you I’ve met, anyways, which is… three of you.”

"We gotta fix that," Sam says, and claps Blaine on the shoulder once before letting go entirely. Blaine smiles and takes the opportunity to politely excuse himself to the kitchen, where he finds a determined Haley reaching for the raised cookie tray despite being too short.

"Here you go," Blaine says, handing her one and taking one for himself. "Don’t tell your parents."

"Thank you, Mr. Anderson," she hums happily as she takes a bite out of the cookie. Blaine’s pretty sure these cookies have magic healing powers.

"You can just call me Blaine when we’re not at school," he says. He leans against the counter to eat his cookie, hoping for a conversation with the young girl.

"But I like calling you Mr. Anderson. You’re my teacher, it’s too weird to call you your other name."

Blaine shrugs. “Fair point.”

Haley scrunches up her nose, thinking. “Well… I guess I can call you Mr. B, if you want. It’s still kinda weird, but not really.”

"I like that." Blaine looks up to see Kurt leaning against the wall that separates the Evans’ kitchen from the living room. "B. It’s cute, like a honeybee or something."

Before a blushing Blaine can respond, Haley says, “Uncle Kurt! Thank you for the cookies!”

"Oh, you’re welcome, honey," Kurt says warmly, accepting the hug at his waist with a little ruffle of Haley’s hair. "Next time you’ll have to help me."

"I’ve never made cookies before," Haley says doubtfully, stepping back to look up at Kurt. "Is it hard?"

"Not at all! In fact, maybe we can get bumblebee over there to join us."

Blaine gapes at Kurt indignantly as Haley claps her hands, excited. She hugs Kurt again and runs back into the living room. “Bumblebee?” Blaine asks, pouting.

"I could have gone with Frisbee," Kurt says with a shrug. "Or vitamin B."

"You’re ridiculous," Blaine says. Kurt’s Shadow at his side hums a playful gold. "I…"

"Hm?" Kurt looks at him expectantly when he trails off.

"…think we definitely should make cookies with Haley someday," Blaine finishes lamely. "It sounds like fun."

"Oh. Yes, it does." The way Kurt’s Shadow’s color turns a more subdued bronze should clue Blaine in on the fact that Kurt himself probably knows what he meant to say, but he chooses to ignore it this time.

He loves Kurt. There’s no doubt about it — he’s felt like he’s been falling in love since they met. Maybe even since before then, but that’s a whole other subject Blaine doesn’t feel like breaching even in the privacy of his own mind. He worries that if he lets himself think too much that he’ll drop the weight of his thoughts on Kurt, who might not be so invested. Sure, Kurt’s Shadow likes him, but Blaine’s scared.

Quinn rescues them from a long, awkward moment of silence when she breezes in to take the second-to-last cookie. She smiles at both of them and leaves again, but now Blaine feels like he can breathe.

"Would you like to split the last cookie?" he asks, waving it in front of Kurt’s face. "I’ll even give you the bigger half."

Kurt laughs, shaking his head. “Sure, I’d love that.”

And there’s that word again, the word that Blaine knows is right — that scares him to death with its promise of either rejection or response.

 

* * *

 

Three and a half months into their relationship finds Blaine being hoisted up against his bedroom wall by Kurt, his legs wrapping automatically around Kurt’s waist.

Doing this in light, with their Shadows of each other clearly there, is always so pleasantly overwhelming. Kurt’s Shadow thrums heady with emotion that mirrors Blaine’s and somehow makes it all so much  _more_ , and Blaine’s sure his Shadow must do the same for Kurt. 

He’s had sex before Kurt, of course, and it had always been a bit strange to have the Shadow of people not involved just… there. Usually they ignored it, or turned the lights out entirely (or, in some cases, the Shadows passively enjoyed it) but now, when the only Shadows present are the silhouettes of both Kurt and Blaine, it’s exhilarating. Blaine vaguely wonders how Kurt can possibly remain standing with the sparks that must be flying in his head, down his spine.

"Did you buy more condoms?" Kurt asks, breath hot at Blaine’s neck. Blaine groans, but it’s a sound of frustration.

"No, I— I forgot, I’m sorry," he manages to grit out when Kurt thrusts up against him, their erections grinding through too many layers, even as Blaine’s pants are undone and slipping down his ass due to Kurt’s grip on his thighs.

"Don’t worry about it." Kurt’s voice has gone deep, and all the sounds he makes,  _god_ , they’re so amazing. Blaine wants Kurt in him so badly but it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen this time since he forgot to buy the damn condoms when he ran out last week.

But he wants something more than this, at least, before he goes insane.

Kurt finds that spot just under his jaw and bites, a sharp sting quickly soothed by his tongue. “I have another idea,” Kurt says. “But it’ll be easier on the bed, and I’m not sure I have the capacity to carry you over there right now.”

Blaine nods and drops his legs until his feet hit the ground; he wobbles a bit, but then Kurt’s pulling them flush together, back against the wall again and slotting his thigh between Blaine’s to grind, hard. Blaine moans, murmurs, “Could you come like this? Just grinding against me?”

"God, yes," Kurt answers. "But I don’t want to." He backs off and Blaine bites back a whine. Kurt watches him with a raised eyebrow as he takes off his top layers and lays them neatly on a nearby dresser. When Blaine hasn’t followed suit (he’d been a little distracted, honestly) Kurt steps closer (not close enough) and tugs at the hem of Blaine’s dress shirt, the only layer left from their dinner date. Blaine raises his arms to let Kurt pull it off, then surges ahead to kiss him, licking hotly, imperfectly, into that beautiful mouth. Kurt turns them around by Blaine’s waist and starts backing him up, not stopping until the edge of the bed forces Blaine to fall back onto it. He scrambles back to make room and Kurt follows him.

"Can we at least get these off?" Blaine asks, almost whining as he starts to push his own pants and briefs down. Kurt grabs them at mid-thigh and pulls them off the rest of the way with a little difficulty, as well as his socks. Blaine takes Kurt’s hand to draw him in for another kiss, his free hand reaching down to undo Kurt’s pants. Kurt then takes them off himself, smiling sheepishly at Blaine because he probably thinks he looks ridiculous, but Blaine’s not sure that’s even possible.

"You’re staring," Kurt says, settling himself back between Blaine’s legs.

"Of course I am," Blaine counters. "I can’t be the first person to think you’re stunningly handsome."

"My ego is going to explode from how much you feed it."

"Hey, nothing I say is untrue," Blaine says. "But right now you’re too far away and I really want to touch you."

Kurt grins and lowers himself on top of Blaine after he takes the lube from the bedside table, his forearms propping himself up on either side of Blaine’s chest. Blaine spreads his legs wider, mostly out of instinct, and his breath hitches when he feels Kurt’s cock slide minutely against his, too dry but  _so_  fucking good. 

"Hang on," Blaine mutters, then, "Can I… ?"

"Hm?"

In answer, Blaine reaches between them to take Kurt’s cock in hand, reveling in the weight of it for a moment before stroking, his thumb gathering the leaking precome to lessen the drag of his hand. Kurt holds himself up as best he can, eyes closed and mouth open and hips jerking, fucking into Blaine’s fist. Blaine pauses for a moment to coat his fingers in a bit of lube, then returns to his task, jerking Kurt faster.

"Stop," Kurt commands after a few minutes. Blaine does, withdrawing his hand to cup Kurt’s chin and tilt his head up for a kiss. Kurt flinches a little at the wetness of his fingers and Blaine apologizes quietly. Kurt hums, says, "Just wanna come like this" with a sudden grind of his hips into Blaine’s that has Blaine arching his back.

Kurt returns to kissing Blaine even as he continues to grind their cocks against each other, the slide slick with lube and precome. Blaine meets Kurt’s thrusts and it’s not exactly a perfect rhythm but neither of them are about to complain.

Kurt’s Shadow doesn’t seem like he’s just on the edge of Blaine’s mind anymore; he’s everywhere, somehow, a shifting, magnificent kaleidoscope of deep reds and sparking silvers and always that rich navy that’s so  _Kurt_  it’s astounding.

Their cocks drag just right and something white-hot builds heavy, spilling over when Kurt pulls a little too hard at Blaine’s lower lip with his teeth; Blaine cries out, muffled only slightly by Kurt’s mouth on his, and his hips shudder through his orgasm as come pulses sticky between them.

"Beautiful," Kurt murmurs, rubbing desperately against Blaine until he’s coming too, gasping, and Blaine can’t help but watch in awe through half-lidded eyes.

It takes a few minutes for both of them to wind down entirely, and Kurt rolls off Blaine with his nose scrunched up in distaste.

"Sticky," he grumbles. "Never my favorite part."

He stands up to get towels from Blaine’s bathroom, and Blaine lets himself appreciate the contours of Kurt’s body as he goes — broad shoulders, muscles shifting in his back, skin milky pale and so quick to bruise, Blaine remembers when he sees faint marks at his sides from when he must have gripped too hard at some point.

Blaine hums happily as Kurt cleans them both off, sated and tranquil when Kurt eases into the space next to him and kisses him sweetly. “You good?”

"I’m amazing," Blaine says. "And you, you’re— God, Kurt."

"Feeding the ego again, I see," Kurt says with a smile. "You know, you weren’t too bad yourself. Sleep?"

"Sleep."

It’s a little cold in his room but Kurt is warm against him, and Kurt’s Shadow just as pleasantly serene in his thoughts, at least until Blaine turns out the lights. And he finds he doesn’t need that presence there so much as he once craved it, not when the person himself is solid next to him.

Blaine stays awake a little longer than Kurt, mostly as a result of thinking about telling Kurt exactly how much he means to him. It seems easier now, but he still wants to hold back, to wait. He needs the right time, when there’s no more doubt left in him to keep the words from tumbling out.

Blaine wonders if he’ll ever stop doubting — Kurt is wonderful, imperfect, and kind, has opened for Blaine more than he ever could have imagined. And what is Blaine to Kurt? Surely he loves him, but is it possible to love anyone as much as Blaine finds himself loving Kurt? He’ll probably never know. It’s breathtaking and terrifying all at the same time.

But soon, he’ll have to say something. Soon.

 

* * *

 

Summer arrives with unbearable heat and a break for Blaine now that school’s out. He misses his kids, but he loves the chance to spend more time with Kurt, Sam, Quinn, and now Rachel Berry. When Kurt shows him pictures of the New Directions in a massive yearbook-like album, Blaine recognizes most of them by their silhouettes, smiles when he thinks of how he could have fit in with them, maybe more so than he ever did at Dalton. It’s too late for regret, but it’s a nice thought.

One day, Kurt really takes the time to examine Blaine’s Wall of Fame, as he calls it. He comments on everything, coos over the cutest of the works by his students, and stares for a long time at the portrait of Blaine, with his Shadow clear behind him. Blaine has no idea what he’s thinking; his expression is mostly neutral, even if a little smile quirks at the corner of his mouth.

"We’ve known each other for a while, haven’t we?" he says.

"Six months on the twenty-third," Blaine says around a yawn as he stretches; it’s a Sunday, his favorite day, and they’re planning to go on a picnic with Haley outside of the city. Which means, of course, they’d had to wake up  _before_  noon.

"No, I mean—" Kurt sighs, turning to look at Blaine. He gestures to the photograph. "Years, right?"

"Oh. Yeah, a long time."

"What are the odds, do you think?"

 _Of having the Shadow of the love of your life around years before you even meet him?_  Blaine thinks. “I don’t know” is his honest answer. “I’m glad they were in our favor, though.”

"Mm." Kurt, again, visibly hovers on the edge of something. Blaine urges him, silently, to continue. "Do you… believe the theory that our Shadows are the imprints of our souls?"

"I do."

"Me too." Kurt bites his lip then and glances at the floor between them. He appears to steel himself to say something, and Blaine’s about to ask directly when he starts speaking again. "Do you think it’s possible for souls to fall in love before they even meet?" he asks in a rush, as if he’s embarrassed. But Blaine thinks about it and finds that he  _does_ , that he fell in love with Kurt long before they met, that Kurt, maybe, did the same. That their Shadows — their souls — did too.

It’s a wild concept, but suddenly it makes absolute, perfect sense.

"I do," Blaine whispers. He’s not sure why he’s so hushed, why there seems to be energy crackling between them even as Kurt starts towards him. But then he does know why, and knows that the moment he’s been waiting for, this is it. "I love you, Kurt."

"Bumblebee—" Blaine rolls his eyes fondly at the nickname. He still thinks it’s a little (a lot) embarrassing, but he can’t pretend that he doesn’t like it anymore. "—I’ve known that for a long time. But I love you, too, so much."

They’re a little — okay, a lot — late to pick up Haley from the Evans’ place, and Blaine’s pretty sure that Quinn (with her uncanny ability to guess practically everything that goes on between two people) knows exactly what’s occurred, but Blaine’s too giddy to mind the smirk she gives them. Sam hands them a digital camera and tells them to take as many pictures as they want. Kurt lights up at the unexpected gift, an idea clearly forming in his head that Blaine has no idea about. But he’s sure he’ll find out soon.

Kurt drives them out of New York City and to a secluded, sunny spot on a hill with the shade of a few trees. It’s a beautiful day and the three of them pick out the shapes of clouds as they eat, Haley creating elaborate stories about the characters she sees up there. Soon enough, Kurt claps his hands together and announces a round of posed photographs.

The first few are of Haley — laughing, attempting to climb one of the trees, lying in the grass. The next are of Kurt and Haley because Blaine had insisted on playing photographer for a while, and then he takes a picture or two of just Kurt, much to the man’s slight embarrassment (though Blaine knows he loves it too). 

Then, after a round of pictures of “Mr. B” and Haley and a mostly failed attempt at a picture of all three, Kurt teaches the young girl how to work the camera.

"What are you planning?" Blaine asks as Kurt lets Haley experiment on the landscape a few times.

"I think you need a new picture for your wall," Kurt says.

Blaine doesn’t ask any more questions as Kurt busies himself with positioning them; for some reason the angle matters, and it takes more than a few tries for Kurt to be pleased. But then he moves them around again, and Haley takes more pictures. On the last click of the camera, Blaine can’t resist leaning in to kiss Kurt’s cheek — he feels Kurt smile against his lips, that wide, uninhibited smile that’s one of Blaine’s favorites.

Kurt takes the camera then and looks through the pictures, evaluating each one. He mutters to himself, hums a bit, and then smiles softly.

"Can I see?"

"Can I see too, Uncle Kurt?"

"Here. I think this one’s perfect," Kurt says with warmth in his voice as he passes the camera to Blaine.

It’s the one of Blaine kissing Kurt’s cheek, and he’d been right in his suspicions about Kurt’s smile. But the part that leaves Blaine breathless for a few seconds is what’s behind them — their Shadows, poised to appear as though it’s Kurt kissing Blaine’s cheek, sharp and clear in contrast to the grass. Blaine glances up at Kurt when Haley takes the camera to look, and he says, “You’re right. It’s perfect.”

"You think so, B?"

"I do." Navy, a flash of gold, a spike of evergreen.

It’s a single snapshot of them, of two souls that couldn’t help falling in love before they met. The next will, perhaps, be of those same two souls getting married, finally tying the knot that may as well have been tied since the night Blaine slept free of fear. The next, of two joined by another, a son or daughter. And so on, until the end. But like shadows, souls never really disappear entirely. They only become impossible to see, which, in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t matter.

They’ll exist, not always in harmony but certainly always in love, until the end of time itself. And to Blaine, the color of that love is in navy, in gold, in crimson and even lime, and in the grey-green-blue of Kurt’s eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> ... I would sell my soul for fan art of the last photograph there. I would.


End file.
